


Distractions

by entanglednow



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Distracting Demons, Explicit Sexual Content, Kink Meme, M/M, Plot What Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:41:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22046551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/entanglednow/pseuds/entanglednow
Summary: In which Aziraphale is supposed to be reading, and Crowley is supposed to be asleep. It isn't long before neither of those things are true.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 38
Kudos: 578
Collections: Good Omens Kink Meme, Top Aziraphale Recs





	Distractions

"How's your book?" Crowley asks, voice a murmur of amused laziness. 

Heraldic Symbology is not one of Aziraphale's favourites, it has to be said. But it's a book that's been slowly collecting dust in the back room, an interest he hasn't had the opportunity to refresh in his memory for a while.

And non-fiction had seemed appropriate this evening.

The page, when he turns it, brushes the sloping curve of Crowley's waist, with a quiet little rasp of paper on skin. The book is balanced carefully between the middle of the demon's back and the gentle curve of his arse. Aziraphale would imagine that the paper and leather have both warmed to the temperature of his skin by now. Save perhaps the spine, which is held ever so slightly aloft by the shapely bend of Crowley's body. 

"Diverting," he says smoothly. Which is a lie, albeit a small one. What is truly diverting is the way Crowley looks in this light, bare skin in every direction, shifting over muscle in slow, content stretches that are just gentle enough not to jostle Aziraphale's book. He's the one who'd encouraged Aziraphale to read in bed after all, he's the one who'd insisted he could make himself useful while he slept. Though Aziraphale hadn't expected to find this position quite so distracting. So much of Crowley's skin mere inches away, beneath the brightly illustrated pages, carefully relaxed and still for Aziraphale's pleasure.

Crowley still feels compelled to find inventive ways to keep Aziraphale in the bed with him, since he still doesn't sleep himself, having never taken to it. He really doesn't need to go to such trouble. Aziraphale has learnt that he's content to be anywhere Crowley is, that it's the demon's company that brings him pleasure. And though he's loath to admit it, he finds the soft and unexpected vulnerability of Crowley when he sleeps to be unexpectedly appealing.

"Does it have pictures?" Crowley asks curiously, head tipped just enough that Aziraphale can see the yellow-gold edge of one eye, and even that much manages to convey amusement.

"Yes, they're very heraldic," Aziraphale supplies, with a smile that the demon can't see.

Crowley hums something interested, as if he might actually care. 

"What's the one for drunken adulterers again?"

He's clearly being distracting on purpose, but Aziraphale sees no reason not to answer him.

"The cutaway edge, mirrored." He doesn't have to look it up. That one was very popular.

"That's the one," Crowley murmurs into his own arm. "Saw a lot of those we did, lots of drunken adulterers trying to get extra credit from upstairs every time there was a spot of conflict. Mind you, the best illustrators from around then have to be the monks, oh, you've gotta give the monks credit. They didn't give a shit what they put in the margins, people with trumpets coming out of their arses, horses that turned into fish, snails in strange places, dicks growing from trees. It's a shame they only really got to work on bibles."

"Somewhat problematic to bring to bed," Aziraphale points out, fingers trailing where the back cover is settled against the gentle rise of Crowley's behind.

"Yeah, that would sear the skin right off my back," Crowley agrees, with a pointed little stretch that makes the pages rustle gently, definitely on purpose. "I'd certainly have trouble keeping still under that. Unless that's something you're into, angel?" There's a touch of genuine curiosity there, Aziraphale thinks. "Spot of well-deserved punishment for a wicked thing, you could even read some of it, while I gently smoked." 

He breathes a laugh, at Aziraphale's quiet noise of protest, which does cause the book to jostle ever so slightly, until Aziraphale tuts and Crowley hums reluctant apology and forces himself still again.

Aziraphale has finished his tea, and since that hand currently has nothing to occupy it, he lays it on the back of Crowley's thigh, which is warm and inviting, tensing and relaxing slightly in his grip. The book shifts a fraction more, when Crowley attempts to look over his shoulder at him again.

There's a snort of amusement when Aziraphale's fingers dig in just a touch. 

"Is that your way of telling me to stop moving?"

Aziraphale very slowly relaxes his fingers. "You said you were going to sleep, naturally I assumed that would mean a lack of movement."

Crowley rolls his head round, so he can give him a pointed look of amusement, all narrowed pupils and crooked smile.

"I assumed you were going to read the book, angel, not sit there appreciating what a pretty picture I made, and doing nothing about it."

Aziraphale refuses to concede the point, reaching out without looking and catching that sharply angled jaw in his fingers, turning it back down onto Crowley's folded arm. The demon seems content to follow direction for now, laying his head back on his arm with a frustrated huff.

Aziraphale reads on for three pages before he lets his hand move, smooths the back of Crowley's thigh in gentle slides. Which draws a murmur of appreciation, and a twitch that shifts Crowley's knees apart, a subtle invitation to continue, or to escalate if he wishes. My fault entirely, the movement clearly says, what a wicked demon, distracting you from your studies. Aziraphale would worry more, at the ease with which he assumes the role of tempter, if he hadn't also drawn a promise from Crowley, that he would only use it for things he wanted as well.

Aziraphale dips his fingers between Crowley's narrow thighs, the tips sliding up high enough to brush against the naked warmth of his vulva, which is encouragingly damp already under his slow, indulgent exploration. Crowley makes a considering noise, and then shifts his hips down a little, until Aziraphale's fingers are drifting instead over the tight clench of his arsehole.

Never one to turn down such a pointed request, Aziraphale starts rubbing slow circles there, just hard enough to suggest interest. Then a little harder to suggest _intent_.

Crowley shivers out a noise of enthusiasm, thighs parting ever so slightly.

Aziraphale pauses to turn a page with the other hand, fingertip putting just a touch of pressure onto that tightly furled hole. He watches Crowley's back tense and then relax in a quick shudder, as if he'd stopped himself from pushing back into Aziraphale's touch. But it's enough movement for the book to slip a fraction, and Aziraphale makes a disappointed noise and lifts his hand away.

Crowley grumbles complaint but forces himself still again. 

Two pages later, Aziraphale rewards him by slipping his fingers back between Crowley's now-spread thighs, this time slick with oil. The demon gives a slow stretch of anticipation, hips lifting in tiny increments that don't move the book. He stills when Aziraphale's fingers circle his hole, rub oil into the hot little clench of skin.

"Fuck, angel, you're not playing fair." Crowley's voice is raspy and eager, thighs tensing and twitching helplessly, as Aziraphale's fingertip pushes into him, before easing slowly free. Once, and then again, and then in a slow but obvious rhythm, pressing deeper every time. Until his finger is driving in to the second knuckle, the squeeze of Crowley's body delicious on every indulgent push inside

"Need I remind you that I was not the one to start it," Aziraphale says quietly. He adds another finger, works it in carefully, feels the stretch as Crowley opens for him. Until there are two fingers sliding in and out of his anus, in slick pushes, stretching him open in a way that Aziraphale knows is slow enough to be teasing but deep enough to be pointed.

"Are you going to finish it?" Crowley breathes, his spine is no longer quite so relaxed, bracing his hips for every push into him.

"Perhaps I should finish my book instead?" Aziraphale pretends to consider it. He's surprised his voice manages to be so steady, when his own arousal is a heavy ache, settled low and hungry. He's been hard since he started touching, he's been desperate since Crowley lost his ability to stay still. There's a trail of fluid at the head of his cock, a glistening line that would be obvious proof of his need, if Crowley was in any position to see it. 

Crowley grumbles something frustrated, and presses his whole body back into the next penetration, arching off the sheets and causing the book to slide down and bump the bed, and Aziraphale's fingers to push in to the last knuckle. The untidy spray of pages is not enough to distract him from the way Crowley pants out a breath, and then squeezes down on him. Though Aziraphale has the presence of mind to pull the book properly shut and set it down off the bed, before he catches at Crowley's long waist and rises up over him, spreading his thighs, until he can watch his fingers press deep into the tight clench of his arse, his flushed hole stretched open around them.

"Am I to assume that you've tired of making yourself useful," Aziraphale asks, and he pretends his voice is much firmer and steadier than it is.

Crowley makes a rough noise of arousal, that breaks and goes low when Aziraphale's other hand spreads his buttocks wider, exposing where his hole is open and slick, reddened from his attention. Above the flushed stretch of his cunt, which is glistening with arousal now.

"You're the one who couldn't keep his hands to himself."

Aziraphale is briefly tempted to sharply smack that gently quivering buttock he still has a hand on. But he supposes Crowley is only being honest. He's the one who was thoroughly distracted, even if he was tempted into it.

Crowley groans out a laugh, as if his silence is an admission of guilt.

Aziraphale slowly slides his fingers free, enjoying the way Crowley's body is reluctant to release them, before he makes a brief gesture, and then slips them back inside, re-coated with oil, enough that three can ease in with only the barest resistance. Crowley chokes a breath, thighs spreading for the pressure, and they're damp at the top where his own arousal has laid slick smears on them.

"Oh, fuck, yes, that's good, that's so good. In me, Aziraphale, come on, please." It's demanding more than it is a plea, but Aziraphale lets him off, drawing him up to his knees on the bed, while he works a hand over himself, careful with the deep, desperate flush of it, so heavy with blood it aches. He's never not overcome when they're together, there's not a single thing about Crowley he doesn't find constantly enticing. He settles the slick head of his cock to Crowley's arsehole, and presses it slowly inside.

Crowley hisses a breath at the stretch, fingers clenching and tangling in the sheets as Aziraphale sinks slowly in careful pushes, watching Crowley open to accommodate him, whole body curving elegantly as Aziraphale fits them together. 

"You are so beautiful like this," Aziraphale tells him.

Crowley gives an amused cough of sound into the bed, doubtless at the position Aziraphale currently has him in.

"I love watching you like this, so hungry for it, so confident in your own pleasure. I love watching you unafraid to demand it."

"Ah, if I'd known you'd be ssso good at it -" Crowley hisses out, hips working to push back and take Aziraphale's cock deeper. He seems to lose his train of thought when Aziraphale meets him there, catches his hips and takes the pace himself. "Oh, oh, fuck."

"I believe that would make you a bad influence," Aziraphale tells him, though his tone is one of amusement, for all that it's cracked through with heat, shaken by every sinking thrust.

"I am a fountain of wickedness," Crowley agrees on a breathy laugh, words broken by the smack of Aziraphale's hips into his behind. "And I am utterly yours, angel."

Aziraphale makes a firm, eager noise of agreement, and carefully pulls Crowley back into his lap, so his long thighs spread open round Aziraphale's own, body readjusting to the new angle with a gasp and a shift of his knees, before the demon settles and moans, hips working gently to push him down onto Aziraphale's cock.

Aziraphale kisses the back of his neck, wraps an arm around Crowley's slim chest, fingertips smoothing his ribs as he raises himself and sinks with a groan, the other hand he tangles in Crowley's hair, watching his neck stretch, eyes fluttering shut.

Crowley's thighs are slick with his own arousal, and he's making tight noises in his throat with every sliding thrust of Aziraphale's cock into his arse.

"M'gonna come," Crowley grates out. "Fuck, just a little, ah, little more, angel."

Aziraphale won't touch him, Crowley will tell him if he needs more. He knows how much the demon likes this, how much he likes the depth, and the greedy tightness of it, the ache that travels all the way up his spine. The way it leaves his cunt hot and empty, but still wonderfully sensitive. 

Aziraphale pushes up as he pulls Crowley down, shoving in as deep as he can get, and Crowley makes a noise in his throat that tells him to do it again, and again. Aziraphale is more than happy to please him, more than happy to give him anything he wants. When it all feels so utterly exquisite.

Until Crowley pushes down onto him, thighs spreading on a moan as he grinds down hard onto Aziraphale's cock, and then tightens. And Aziraphale can feel the hot slide of Crowley's cunt on his balls, slicking them wetly as he comes in long, delicious shudders around him.

It's a long moment of tightness and gentle rocking, before Crowley moans breathlessly and finally relaxes, body sinking back into his chest, legs going limp, arsehole fluttering in little spams of pleasure around his cock. It's an overwhelming sensation when Aziraphale is so close, so warm, always so awed by Crowley's pleasure. He breathes against the shell of Crowley's ear for a moment, leaves a desperate kiss on the curve of it, and Crowley turns his head, so Aziraphale's mouth presses damp and warm against the tangled serpent tattoo, and that makes the demon inhale sharply and murmur his name.

"Are you too sensitive for me to continue?" Aziraphale asks.

Crowley hums something pleased, and reaches back to catch fingers around Aziraphale's forearm.

"No, go on, I want it, keep fucking me til you come."

Given permission Aziraphale lifts him, works his hips in quick, rolling pulls, feels Crowley's body move into him, warm and easy now, but still deliciously tight around him, helping with little squeezes and sighs of pleasure until Aziraphale is pulling him down and in, as deep as he can go, leaving the wet, desperate pulses of his own orgasm as far into Crowley as he can get.

There are no words, in any language, for how much he loves him.

Crowley gives a hum of pleasure and twists round far enough to kiss him, impossibly bendy thing that he is. His mouth is hot, and greedy, hair damp and dark like rust under Aziraphale's hand. They stay like that, kissing, until Crowley stretches the right way again, whole body liquid with satisfaction.

Aziraphale pulls out carefully, admiring the flushed redness of Crowley's hole, that's slowly leaking his come as he slithers back down into the sheets. Part of him is tempted to slip his fingers inside him again, to delay their separation as long as possible, to feel the mess he's left, the proof of their indulgence in each other. He knows Crowley would let him, Crowley would let him do a great many things. Which he tries desperately to accept, to be grateful for, to not take advantage of.

Aziraphale settles in the bed with him instead, and Crowley makes sleepy, contented noises when he curves into his back, fitting his more rounded body into every hollow space the demon has, arm curled round his waist, face pressed into his long neck.

"There's not a single part of your body I don't adore," Aziraphale tells him.

"You say that like I don't feel the same," Crowley says sleepily, and slithers a leg back far enough to tangle it around one of Aziraphale's. "Let me nap for a little while and then I'll prove it to you."


End file.
